


Yes, And: AfterDark

by aurora_australis, LeChatNoir1918



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Drabbles and Ficlets, F/M, Fanart, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatNoir1918/pseuds/LeChatNoir1918
Summary: A series of drabbles, drawings and bad ideas inspired by each other. Ratings, characters, and tags all subject to change as each new chapter is posted and what little shame we had to begin with dwindles away.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 511
Kudos: 247





	1. Jack-In-The-Box

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Yes, And...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413272) by [aurora_australis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis), [LeChatNoir1918](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatNoir1918/pseuds/LeChatNoir1918). 



> I honestly don't know how to explain this. 😂
> 
> Some of you might be following LeChatNoir1918 and my other collaboration "Yes, And...", which is essentially stories and images inspired by each other. _This_ is similar to that except... more adult. Because sometimes “inspiring” means “inspiring bad decisions,” and it turns out one can’t collaborate with someone as talented and evil as LeChatty without a little fallout. 
> 
> And then you post that fallout because "friends" encourage it and quite frankly LeChatty's work is just too damn good _not_ to.
> 
> So, yeah, this is basically "Yes, And..." except dirtier, sillier, and probably updating far less often. Consider it the bonus material on the DVD? 😉
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>   
> P.S. Allison_Wonderland is also partly to blame for all this, and don't let her tell you otherwise.

Working together on the "Yes, And..." series there has been a lot of back and forth between the two of us, and I've come to realize that LeChatNoir1918 never met a bad idea she couldn't improve upon, but what really kicked off this side series was a Tumblr post I made after the recent feature film trailer was released.

I couldn't help myself, ok???

[Link to the Tumblr post here.](https://aurora-australis-tumbles.tumblr.com/post/189508973970/phrynefisherdaily-jack-robinson-in-miss-fisher)

In response, LeChatty.... well, Chapter 2 is all her.

***

_aurora_australis_


	2. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT CAN I SAY.  
> Everyone who knows me knows that I am _absurdly_ happy about this development.  
> Though to be fair, Aurora didn't need a _whole lot_ of convincing to go through with this idea... and in any case, she posted the Tumblr post (really, go look at it, it's brilliant) that started all of this, so really, isn't she the one at fault? 😉 
> 
> Just kidding, I'll very happily take the blame for this. A chance to see some more risqué drabbles by aurora_australis is an opportunity anyone would jump at, no?
> 
> Thank you to all those friends who encouraged this (especially Allison_Wonderland) and helped me in my mission to pull Aurora over to the dark side. 😈
> 
> We hope you have fun on this new journey with us!

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The magic dick of Jack Robinson, eh?


	3. Science

“...huh.”

“Yes.”

“And it started after — ”

“Yes.”

“And otherwise you feel… ?”

“Fine.”

“Huh.”

“Yes.”

Mac sighed, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes.

Maybe, if she wished _really_ hard, when she opened them again he would be gone.

She peeked with one eye.

Damn.

With a second, longer, sigh, she opened both eyes to see that not only was he still there, he hadn’t moved _at_ _all_. She cocked an eyebrow and gave her patient a pointed look.

“You can put that away now, Inspector; I’ve never had any use for those in the past and the light show isn’t exactly changing my mind.” 

He coughed nervously, but did as he was told, the tips of his ears now a rather worrying shade of red. 

Good. She wasn’t paid nearly enough for this shit.

With a third sigh — excessive even by her own eternally exasperated standards, but warranted given the situation — Mac leaned down and started rummaging through her desk. When she emerged, it was with a small jar of ointment and an old pair of extra large sunglasses. 

“It’s temporary, but could cause some irritation. The cream should help with that."

"And the glasses?" he asked.

"Those are for Phryne — without proper protection she’s likely to burn out her retinas getting her fill of that.”

Jack made a sort of choking noise, then took both items and hastily tucked them in his coat pocket. He murmured a quick “thank you,” and started to leave, but Mac stopped him with a raised hand and a shake of her head. 

“Say nothing of it, Inspector. Ever. _Please_.”

Jack nodded and made once more to leave.

“And, Jack?” He turned back at her words. “The next time you decide to immediately follow through on a romantic overture, do it far, far away from the polonium, all right?”

He nodded again, then practically ran out of her office. 

Mac closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

She really wasn’t paid nearly enough for this shit.

***

_aurora_australis_


	4. Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You give me sunglasses, I give you Phrack eye-f***ing on the beach. Consider it a present to myself 😇
> 
> P.S. _double trouble_ , aurora_australis also posted the new chapter for our regular "Yes, And" today and as always it's absolutely fabulous ❤️

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	5. Advancements

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your life! Or trying to anyway, if you’d stop being so bloody stubborn. Please, Phryne, just hold still... See? Now isn’t that better?”

“Much. Not sure I understand the saving my life part, though.”

“The kiss of life, Miss Fisher. I resuscitated you. You were almost certainly drowning!”

“Drowning… ?”

“Almost certainly. And one can never be too careful.”

“And how, precisely, was I drowning on the steps of Wardlow?”

“Well it’s raining.”

“It’s a light shower, Jack.”

“It’s practically a monsoon, Miss Fisher!”

“I see. And that sound I heard must have been the nightingale, not the lark?”

“Exactly.”

“You know, Jack, I don’t recall the kiss of life involving quite so much tongue.”

“Modern techniques, Miss Fisher. Have to keep up in my profession. All in the line of duty.”

“Mmmmm. Well mouth to mouth has clearly made some _wonderful_ advancements since I learned it. And the new hand placement is delightfully improved as well.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Oh I _do_ , Jack, I do. Perhaps we could move inside and I could get a refresher?”

“In a moment. I quite like kissing you in the rain.”

“Resuscitating me, you mean.”

“Yes, that.”

“….”

“….”

“Well done, Jack, I feel like a brand new woman. And, lucky for us, it looks like I resuscitated you right back.”

“What?”

“Look down.”

“… oh.”

“Yes.”

“What do you think we should do about that?”

“Well, actually, I was thinking a little mouth to co — ”

“Miss Fisher!”

“What?”

_“Now_ we move inside.”

“Well, yes, that’s part two of the plan, Jack. Keep up.”

“I shall do my absolute best, Miss Fisher, I shall do my absolute best.”

“Oh Jack… I’m counting on it.”

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I may have been wrong, this series might get updated _more_ frequently - have silly idea, post silly idea. Bing bang boom. 😂


	6. Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Silly” is in the fic description, right? Definitely had an _unholy_ amount of fun with this one. Vegetation and all...
> 
> For the record, aurora_australis very much advocated for this to happen. Just in case she pretends to be shocked by it... 😂😘

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I feel the need to apologize to Essie Davis for everything I'm putting her face through.


	7. War

It had started out as a game.

Amusing. Benign. Innocent, even.

She had been eating a piece of asparagus, gesturing with it a little too emphatically while telling a story, and Jack had asked her to please handle the poor thing more delicately, he was having sympathy pains. She had looked confused for half a second, before her eyes widened a fraction in understanding. Then she’d proceeded to eat it in the most suggestive way possible and Jack had had sympathy… other feelings.

A few days later, he’d been enjoying a strawberry in his office, no ulterior motive except a delicious afternoon snack, when he’d noticed her squirming a bit in her seat and realized quite suddenly why. After that he’d really sunk his teeth in, taking great pains to thoroughlyrelish both his fruit and her involuntary reactions.

There had been a few more incidents like that: a mango, a pickle, an unfortunately shaped drop scone. All in good fun, a private game between the two of them.

Until...

Until one night, Jack — bored, slightly annoyed, and even more slightly tipsy at yet another society party — had decided to amuse himself. He’d grabbed a piece of fruit off the tray and made his way over to where Phryne and her aunt were in deep conversation about something that had Mrs Stanley rather red-faced. Noting his arrival, Phryne had smiled, sweetly, which had almost made him abandon his plan. 

Almost.

Instead, he’d carried on. Moving next to Mrs Stanley, he’d leaned against the wall, made eye contact with Phryne, and then very, very deliberately taken the engorged, deep-purple fig, split it in half, and roughly devoured it in an instant.

Mrs Stanley hadn’t noticed.

Phryne had dropped her champagne flute.

The glare she’d shot him while her aunt’s staff hastily cleaned up the glass had made the whole caper worthwhile.

Until, that was, a week later at his sister’s, when she’d done unholy things to an icy pole during his niece's backyard birthday party.

After that it was no longer a game — it was war.

Jack volleyed next; seated casually behind the red raggers in Phryne’s kitchen, he’d consumed a peach in a way that had her mispronouncing Cec’s name in a spectacularly embarrassing manner.

Phryne fired back by practically swallowing a banana whole during a City South shift change, ensuring Jack remained behind his desk for a lot longer than he’d planned.

She’d gone on to violate the Obscenities Act with an ice cream during a group trip to the foreshore, and then later at a dinner party he’d basically cheated on her with a French Custard, the little tart.

Back and forth, they went. Ground gained, ground lost. An innuendo impasse.

But every war has a final battle.

A month or so after the first shot was fired, they were having dinner with a friend when Mr Butler brought out three plates of dessert: chocolate mousse with a cherry. To make them, he’d used a rounded glass with a well at the bottom sufficient for placing one cherry, on top of which he’d made the mousse, chilled it, and then dished it out in reverse onto the plate.

The effect was... titillating, to say the least.

Phryne looked up at Jack, eyes wide with surprise.

“You hijacked my chef!” she hissed, clearly annoyed (and a little impressed) at his gall.

“What?” He shot a furtive look at their guest, before whipping his head back to Phryne. “I didn’t do this.”

She frowned. “Then who — ”

She was interrupted by a pointed cough from across the table.

In tandem, both detectives looked over just in time to see Mac lean back in her chair, pick up her wine glass, and take a very deliberate sip.

“That would be me.”

“You?” Phryne asked, genuinely shocked.

“Me. Mr Butler was remarkably keen to substitute my dessert for yours — I suspect he also thought you had this coming.” She picked up a napkin to dab at her lips. “Especially given your ridiculous little game over the last several weeks.”

Jack’s jaw literally dropped and Phryne’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You knew?” she squeaked.

Mac rolled her eyes and threw down her napkin. “Of course I knew! _Everyone_ knows! You two idiots weren’t subtle when you were merely fucking with your eyes and you’re not subtle now — I’m just the only one willing to call you on it. But Dot’s taken to avoiding the kitchen entirely and I’ve had to answer several of Hugh’s disturbingly specific questions, so it stops. Now.” 

Phryne, finally recovering from her astonishment and remembering she didn’t do embarrassed, crossed her arms and leaned back in her own chair. “And what makes you think you can dictate terms?”

“Because now I’m playing too.” She glanced down at the dessert and picked up a spoon which she then jabbed in the air at her friends. “So I suggest you both admit defeat immediately before I’m forced to break out the big guns.”

Jack looked down at the ludicrously evocative cherry topped mound in front of him. “There are bigger guns than these?” he asked dryly.

Mac narrowed her eyes. “Not only do I have suspect associates, Jack Robinson, I went to medical school… do you really want to test me?”

Jack met her eyes for approximately three seconds before looking down again. “No ma’am,” he said, a small down-turned smile on his lips even as the tips of his ears turned pink.

Phryne, always gracious in defeat and pleased to lose to such a worthy opponent in any case, picked up her white napkin and waved it about for a moment, conceding her friend’s victory. 

And really, it was the best peace treaty either of them could have hoped to achieve.

Mac looked between the two detectives and nodded, satisfied that her point had been made and her demands met. 

Then she picked up a spoon, dug into her mousse, and enjoyed their just deserts.

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Melbourne, an icy pole is what various other countries (and parts of Australia) might call an ice pop, popsicle, freezer pop, ice lolly, ice pop, ice block, or ice drop, among, I am sure, other things.
> 
> My search history continues to be amazing, folks. 😂


	8. Cherry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.... I had another dream (and dreams don't have to make sense, right?). Enjoy...? 😅🍒 (gotta make use of that M-rating, lmao)

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did consider covering her up more but then I drew the butt and really liked the butt and thought it would be a shame to hide it. Have fun, Aurora. 😂


	9. Shades

As a detective, Jack appreciated details. Details provided clues, illuminated motive, solved cases. The devil might be in the details, but Jack’s conviction rate was right in there with him. 

Which was, Jack assured himself, the only reason he was so preoccupied with discovering the exact shade of Phryne Fisher’s lipstick. 

The first time he met her, he thought it might be cherry red, but he was too distracted by her meddling to be certain. It matched the little flower on her hat, he knew that much, not that that specific detail helped. When he found her later in the bathhouse, he speculated that it might be more of a currant hue, but that time he was too distracted by the sight of her in a towel to know for sure. And when she held up that damn champagne flute and toasted her new endeavour as a lady detective, he wondered if it was actually a deep berry, but he was too distracted by his sudden headache to settle the issue.

Why he always seemed to associate her lips with things he liked to nibble, he didn’t dare dwell on. 

As he got to know her better, the precise shade she wore only seemed to grow more elusive. Her lips were garnet at a jazz club, ruby at _Ruddigore_ , strawberry at the State Bank. In a bookshop turned crime scene they were raisins and almonds and apples.

Always, it seemed, something he wanted to taste.

(He did taste them, once, early on, but his own regret overwhelmed the memory.)

The first time he was in her bedroom, he considered sneaking a peek in her vanity for a closer look, but there was still a murderous jewel thief to arrest and cottage pie on his fingers besides. 

Surprisingly, given their work, it took a long time for him to see her chosen hue as blood red. And when he finally did, standing next to a Celtic queen and an odd accident, he nearly ran away for good.

But not her good. Or his. And in the end it didn’t stick; he found he didn’t like the taste.

Their relationship shifted once more, then shifted again. Gradation over time.

He didn’t even try to name the natural pink he saw after the incident on the Pandarus, but it haunted his dreams for weeks.

When he ran out of shades he knew, he started making up his own names. Like Shakespeare, he compared proudly to no one but himself. Queenscliff Crimson. Blackberry Jam. Mostly Crushed Wine. Mahogany Waltz.

No Reason.

Lost Reason. 

Romantic Overture.

He still couldn’t name the shade when she flew away, but he held it in his mind’s eye all the same. Saw that distinctive, if mercurial, red whenever he closed his eyes.

And when he saw her again with his own eyes, he didn’t focus so much on the shade of her lips as the smile upon them. It called to him, a siren’s song in scarlet he was happy to drown in forever.

(It didn’t taste like regret this time either. It tasted like cherries. And vanilla. And love.)

He kissed the red right off her lips. 

He stopped trying to name the shade after that. Despite countless opportunities in her bedroom. Despite his early curiosity. The shade never seemed to be the same anyway. It changed with the light or her clothes or her humour.

Mercurial. 

It wasn’t until much, much later — after the hundredth time he’d cleaned it off his shirt collar in the wash basin and his own lips at the bathroom sink and his chest and other parts south in the shower — that he realized the real reason he could never pinpoint the exact shade. There were, simply, as many facets to her lipstick as to the woman herself. 

She wore Phryne Fisher Red. 

And it was his absolute favorite shade. 

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it didn’t quite fit the tone of the ficlet, I did NOT make a pun about her being “one in a vermillion,” and honestly, 10 points to Hufflepuff for my restraint there.
> 
> Also, this was not my first idea to follow up Chapter 8, but I was afraid if I went that way we’d never leave the food theme and this would become _Yes, And: After Dinner_. Luckily, LeChatty and Phryne gave me LOTS of… inspiration. And ideas. And palpitations.
> 
> Basically, I’m Jack. 😂


	10. Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to. And this is the restrained version of what my brain wanted to do 😂  
> Yet another example of "Aurora drabbles something beautiful and profound" and my brain goes "Jack in the showerrrrrr 😍".

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First naked Phryne, now naked Jack.... what's next, naked Aunt P?!? 😉
> 
> And to our dear Whopooh (remembering the dressing/undressing question of the Mirror chapter of Yes, And): Phryne is definitely not _putting_ the towel there... (at least in my mind) 😉
> 
> Also, quick history lesson because I spent half an hour researching showers in the 1920s.... very few homes had actual showers and this is the best I could do with the pictures I had... there WERE, however, ribcage showers which just looked like torture devices (hence I didn't draw one) but they were used to spray small jets of water at specific areas of the body for "therapeutic purposes", like the kidneys, etc. but I'm assuming they could have easily been used for... _other_ areas, Aurora *cough cough*


	11. Breezy

Despite some natural talent Phryne had no real desire for the stage. A jingle here, a dress rehearsal there, a few fan feathers when the occasion called were all well and good, but she didn’t require any more.

Still... there was a reason she kept her theatrical skills polished.

Pretending to be asleep, and hearing Jack curse once, twice and then three times, in escalating volume and complexity of obscenity, made it all worth it.

And, through it all, Phryne put on a show: kept her breathing even, slowed her eye twitches under her closed lids, looked to all the world like a woman peacefully dreaming.

Suddenly the soft light that had been warming her face was blocked as a shadow fell across her pillow.

“Nice try, Miss Fisher. What did you do with them?”

Phryne slowly opened her eyes, mouthed an exaggerated yawn, stretched her arms and looked up in feigned confusion. “Jack? Is that you? Whatever is the matter, darling?”

Jack stood before her wearing only a towel, his arms crossed, his hair still wet from the shower.

“You know very well whatever is the matter,” he told her flatly, patently unamused.

Phryne sat up and gave him her best doe eyes and an innocent shrug. “I couldn’t possibly, Jack, I just woke up.”

“Phryne…”

“Jack?”

Really, she could do this all day; she’d been part of more intense standoffs before and this one at least had an excellent view.

“My clothes!” he finally blurted out, clearly annoyed. “Where are my clothes?”

“Right where you left them, I assume.”

“No, I left them on that chair.” He pointed to the once nearest the door, where he always left them at night, folded neatly and out of the way. “And now they’re gone.”

“What about the spare set you keep in the wardrobe?”

“That’s gone too.”

“Your pajamas?”

“Also missing,” he ground out.

“How odd,” she observed. “And so inconvenient too.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Especially as I need said clothes to go into work today.”

“Even though it’s your day off,” she reminded him pointedly.

Jack’s mouth set in a tight line. “Phryne, we talked about this last night. At length.”

“No, you talked at me and then proceeded to ignore my very good points about you needing an actual day off and not just one with slightly less time at the station.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t understand how much paperwork I still have waiting for me.”

“And you don’t understand how rare it is for the two of us to just have a day alone, together. Jane is at Ruth’s. Mr Butler is visiting his sister. My aunt is in Queenscliff and _you have the day off._ ”

“Phryne — ”

“No, Jack, you’re absolutely right.” She flung the doona off her lower body, grabbed her dressing gown from the post, and pulled it on. “You do whatever you need to. Assuming you can find something to wear of course.” She pulled the sash of the gown closed with more force than was strictly necessary and moved to the bedroom door, turning back to address him once more. “I just want you to remember two things - one, the paperwork will still be there tomorrow and two, I learned the fine art of hiding things from coppers from my father. Good. Luck.”

Then she pulled the door closed — also with more force than was strictly necessary — and went downstairs to make herself some tea.

\---------------------

Phyrne sighed into her teacup; it had been a dirty trick. 

Not _undeserved_ , mind, but dirty nonetheless.

She should probably go upstairs and apologize. Or at least give him a bigger towel.

She was just contemplating one large enough to realistically mimic a Roman toga when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She looked up just as Jack rounded the door into the dining room, and then she promptly burst out laughing.

Jack was standing there, stoic as the day they met, wearing one of her dressing gowns.

Not one of the full length ones, either. This was a shorter piece that came to about her knee. On Jack it barely covered his… constabulary charms.

By now Phryne was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face and she was having trouble breathing. Jack waited, patiently, for her to compose herself. By the time she did, the tea was lukewarm at best.

“Oh Jack,” she gasped, trying to hold off another case of the giggles, “I love the new look. I think you’ll really cause a sensation at the station.”

“Well,” he said, sitting down next to her and filching a slice of her toast, “as it happens I’m finding this very comfortable and breezy. Like a kilt.” She snorted and he shrugged. “Also, it turns out I’m not going in to the station today.”

“You’re not?” she asked in genuine surprise.

“No. Someone reminded me it’s my day off.” He took a bite of the bread and then reached for her hand. “And that the paperwork would still be there tomorrow.”

“They sound wise,” she concluded, and Jack nodded.

“They have their moments,” he agreed. “Of course, now we need to figure out what to do with the rest of the day.” Jack let go of her hand and got up to make himself some tea, her dressing gown fluttering slightly as he did. 

“Do you want your clothes back?” she asked, hoping he’d decline and straining her neck a bit to fully admire the breezyness of his new attire.

“No thank you,” he said turning around and leaning down so his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “I’m planning to play a hiding game of my own shortly, and clothes will just get in the way.”

Phryne grinned into her teacup as he sat back down beside her and ate his stolen toast. Talk about natural talent.

“Oh, and Phryne?” he continued.

“Mmmmm?”

“I’m keeping the robe.”

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was, no joke, about two seconds away from naming this chapter “Salami” but cooler heads (and a fear of sending us down the Phrack/food rabbit hole again) prevailed. 😂


	12. Robe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While my brain is still trying to figure out how to follow up on "Yes, And", I was feeling extremely inspired by the thought of Jack in one of Phryne's robes. Might have to draw him standing up in it at some point. 😏
> 
> In other news, will I forever use "constabulary charms" as a euphemism for Jack's goods now? You bet. I love you Aurora 😘

_***_

_***_

_LeChatNoir1918_


	13. Wiggle

“This little pig went to market.”

“Phryne…”

“This little pig stayed home.”

"Phryne.”

“This little pig had roast beef.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“This little pig had none.”

“Well that’s just sad.”

“And _this_ little pig…”

“PHRYNE!!”

“...cried 'wee wee wee' all the way home.”

"..."

"..."

“That’s not my toe.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...no.”

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Until the mid-20th century, the lines referred to "little pigs" instead of "little piggies." The more you know....
> 
> 2) She drew barefoot Jack, people... I can't be held responsible for my actions!
> 
> 3) I think this is the shortest thing I've ever written.
> 
> 4) Sorry LeChatty! 😂


	14. Fingerplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my brain almost exclusively came up with explicit ideas after reading Aurora's drabble and THEN I realized that the rhyme falls under the category _fingerplays_ (I mean, _come on_ , what do you expect my brain to do with that). So, I am very happy that I did not end up drawing something explicit.  
> Well, happy for the sake of Aurora and the rating of this fic, in any case 😂😇

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	15. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’s back, she’s back, LeChatty is BAAAAAAACK!
> 
> I mean cool, whatever, I’m chill.
> 
> *puts on sunglasses like Phryne in Queenscliff*
> 
> *fools exactly no one like Phryne in Queenscliff*
> 
> *is totally ok with that like Phryne in Queenscliff*

Her legs dangled off his desk in the most distracting way imaginable, which was almost funny given all the ways he had actually imagined this. Or something very much like this anyway. But it was becoming a problem, because underneath the desk Jack was becoming... uncomfortable. 

And while her brilliant mind was doing all the heavy lifting, so to speak, those legs were definitely not helping.

“Would you get off my desk, please?”

She had the utter audacity to look surprised, which, he supposed was fair. He knew, he _knew_ , she wasn’t doing it on purpose, not this time anyway, and he decided to take a little joy from being able to surprise her, even if it was with this.

“Why?” she asked.

Why? _Why?_ How about “ _desks are not chairs_ ” or “ _we’re working_ ” or “ _I’m about five seconds away from committing a major health code violation in a municipal building_ ”?

“Just remove yourself, Miss Fisher.”

He tried to say it casually, but she saw right through his efforts. And now she knew the effect she was having. Great. Jack tried very hard not to sigh in defeat; he usually only stood a chance of outmaneuvering her when she didn’t realize they were playing.

“I'm quite comfortable, thank you.”

And now she was entrenched and he was still flustered and the situation really was becoming unbearable and he was eventually going to have to leave the office and be around other people.

Desperate times…

He reached into his drawer and pulled out the spider.

Miss Muffet vacated his desk in a whirl of white fabric, raising the white flag.

She glared at him from across the table.

“Not fair, Jack.”

Jack crossed his legs under the desk and thought about footy scores.

No, it really wasn’t.

\---------------------

“Why do you even own chairs?” he asked, feigning annoyance as he worked around her shapely legs to play the sonata. “Since you always seem to find alternative surfaces to perch yourself upon.”

She didn’t respond right away, just leaned back a little further on the piano, her eyes sparkling as brightly as that damn buckle on her waist which always brought to mind arson, chemistry, his resolve... really all things flammable.

“For company,” she finally answered, twirling her necklace between her elegant fingers. “And because it came as a set.”

Jack shook his head and continued to play, desperately trying to ignore her foot’s close proximity to his major D. 

From the naughty smile on her face, it wasn’t an accident. 

“Watch your fingerwork, Jack, you’re suddenly all thumbs.”

She wasn’t wrong, he was making all kinds of mistakes, but it was also her fault; she was keeping time with her toes and it was, ironically, throwing off his tempo.

He planned to feign a little more annoyance, but then he caught a glimpse of her stocking tops and gave up on the piece altogether, all thumbs again, with a little tongue for good measure.

\---------------------

Jack cycled up his drive and into the garage, filthy from his ride and intending to lock up his bike, only to find her lounging across the hood of his car like Cleopatra on a palanquin.

“Hello, Jack,” she greeted cheerfully.

“I just had that washed,” he complained, indicating the car and hiding a smile as he put away the bike.

She shrugged. “Clean is overrated.”

He shook his head as he walked over to her. “Is it then?”

She nodded solemnly, leaning back to rest on her elbows. He moved closer, trailing one hand up from her ankle to her bent knee. “Is this why you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Find alternative surfaces to perch yourself upon,” he said, quoting himself. “To create these… situations?”

She pushed herself up a little and looked at him, all pretense dropped, her expression so open and sincere it made him pause.

“Of course not, Jack. I just like finding… new perspectives. Life’s too short to always sit in chairs.”

He smiled softly at the revelation and more importantly at _her_ ; there were a million reasons he loved Phryne Fisher — her wit, her sensuality, her compassion — but her joie de vivre was very close to the top of the list.

“Thought of course...” she continued, raising an eyebrow and lowering herself again. “I’ve never _minded_ what comes after.”

Then it was Jack’s turn to nod solemnly. 

He shut the garage door and proceeded to get them both filthy.

\---------------------

“That’s the last of it.”

Jack took the final piece of produce out of the bag and placed it on her kitchen table. They had a rare day at Wardlow to themselves, everyone out and away, and he’d planned to cook them dinner later.

He glanced up, intending to tease her about her lack of help, but what he saw took his breath away.

She was looking out the window, at what he didn’t know, but the expression on her face… it was pure delight. Whatever innocuous thing she’d noticed somehow enough to make her happy, to transform an everyday moment into something special. She really did find joy in all the places, dark and otherwise.

God he loved her. 

She finished her moment as quickly as she’d begun it and turned back to him, eying all the food on the table and smiling as she took a seat. “I hope you’re not expecting a sous chef tonight.”

“Not a chance. I have plans for this dinner that don’t include burning it,” he told her, picking up one of the vegetables for emphasis as he did.

“These plans… are they _just_ for dinner?” she asked, pushing out a seat for him, a look something akin to challenge in her eyes.

Well… if life was too short for chairs, it was _definitely_ too short to ignore a challenge from Phryne Fisher.

Keeping eye contact, he pushed the chair away and moved closer, closer, impossibly closer before hopping up on the table in front of her, so that they were now eye to... zucchini.

Her eyes flashed and she rolled her lips to keep her expression as neutral as possible.

Phryne nodded at the table. “I just polished that,” she told him, voice low, pupils wide.

The idea of Phryne Fisher doing any of her own cleaning almost made him laugh, but he was committed to this new perspective so he just shrugged noncommittally.

“You might want to polish a little more — looks like you missed a spot.”

He didn’t move after he said it, just stayed perfectly still on the table. What, exactly, came next was entirely up to her.

She didn’t keep him waiting for her decision, though, and the look she gave him as she moved closer made him feel like he was burning up on the spot. 

Flammable indeed. 

***

_aurora_australis_


	16. Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe not so clean.... (is this too much? 😅)
> 
> After that drabble my brain wanted to combine many many different things... and I promise that in my head this makes sense in relation to all of said things I wanted to combine. On that note, everything in this drawing is intentional... if not super obvious😄😇. This is an M-rated fic, after all.
> 
> _THIS IS FUN._

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry, Aurora. _(You do this to yourself.)_ 😘


	17. Undercover

The outfits were, on occasion, hilarious.

Not the circus one, obviously. That had been... _inspiring_ , and had led to a very stern conversation with himself about inappropriate dreams featuring workmates. But that had also been the first of her undercover ensembles and Jack was generous enough to cut himself a little slack since it had been a surprise and also she had basically flashed him in his office.

By the time she donned fans to dance at the gentleman’s club, he was mostly just amused by the whole thing. And by now he’d seen her undercover in all manner of disguise, including as an usher, a nurse and a nun.

Even she found the nun to be a stretch.

When she’d shown up at the Windsor in the maid’s uniform he’d actually laughed out loud and had to cover it by explaining he was thinking of a funny joke he’d heard earlier. Luckily it was only a minor robbery or he’d have felt terrible for the guffaw. And, to be fair, when she’d shown him the more... _tailored_ version of the outfit later that night, his reaction had been decidedly different.

So, yes, at this point Jack’s reactions to Phryne’s outfits were mostly fond amusement followed by mild concern for how it might affect his investigation.

Until the string of thefts at the Public Library on Swanston Street.

It wasn’t the kind of case Jack usually investigated, but ever since the Library had been incorporated with the Museums and the National Gallery, it had become prestigious and important to important and prestigious people.

Which was how Jack found himself there one slow and grey Tuesday morning in March. He was interviewing the curator, asking the usual questions when she walked in.

Undercover.

Undercover as a _librarian_.

With the hair, and the glasses, and the book cart...

Jack lost his damn mind.

His eyes became stalks and his throat went dry and his… bookworm, announced its presence most insistently. The curator asked if he was alright and Jack’s bumbling response was so incoherent _Hugh Collins_ shot him a baffled look.

She noticed, of course she did, and with a wink made herself scarce as Jack somehow stumbled his way through the rest of the interview. When he was done, he excused himself to question the new librarian, who he located in the most desolate area of the stacks.

“A librarian?” he hissed, pushing her gently against the shelving and moving to kiss her.

Phryne stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“No, Jack,” she said kindly.

“No?” Jack asked, both incredulously and loudly.

“Shhhhh,” she hushed, which just added to the authenticity of the role and Jack groaned even as he took a step back to respect her wishes. His expression, however, must have betrayed his enormous disappointment because she cupped his face in her hand as she explained. “Jack, you’re on duty and in the middle of an investigation and no matter how amorous you’re feeling in the moment you will regret this in the aftermath.”

Jack took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly; she was right, dammit, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Come by Wardlow tonight and I’ll make it up to you,” she whispered and he smiled slightly at her solution.

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, too soft to even leave a mark, and ducked under his arm and out of the stacks. He waited a full five minutes to collect himself before returning to his investigation, forging on despite his desire.

He didn’t forget though.

He concluded the work day earlier than any of his constables could recall him doing ever and drove at Phryne Fisher speeds to her home.

When he arrived at Wardlow he let himself in ready to make a beeline to her bedroom, only to promptly trip over a book in the foyer. 

_What the hell?_

As he picked it up, he saw another, and then another, and then another. He gathered them, one by one, following the trail to her library, his arms laden with literature by the time he arrived.

He walked in and immediately dropped them all. 

She was sitting behind the desk, her legs propped up, glasses on, reading D.H. Lawrence.

Jack lost his damn mind.

He was across the room in a heartbeat, leaning across the desk and pushing her book down so he could see her face.

“Excuse me,” he told her, voice low and rough and just this side of civilized. “I would like to check out a book.”

She raised one imperious eyebrow at him.

“I see. And is there anything else, you’d like to… check out?”

Jack grinned, rounding on the desk and pushing her feet to the floor.

“I would actually.” He gestured to the desk, indicating she should hop up, but she just shook her head. Jack frowned in confusion.

“You’re overdue,” she explained, though there was a distinct twinkle in her eye as she did.

“Am I?” Jack didn’t know how this fit into the fantasy, but he was willing to play along. “A thousand apologies, miss. I was detained at work.”

She shrugged, the sleeves of her conservative dress fluttering as she did. “That’s alright. It makes sense you’d be overdue.”

“How’s that?” he asked warily.

“Well you’re looking _fine_.” She didn’t laugh as she said it, but it was a very near thing.

Jack groaned. “Miss Fisher…”

“What?” she asked, voice going up in mock innocence.

Jack crossed his arms. “If you’re not going to take this seriously…” 

He was pouting. He knew he was pouting, but books and sex were two of his favourite things and _honestly_ , he hadn’t been like this with her damn Marc Antony costume.

She stood up with an apologetic smile and took his hands, tugging his arms down and guiding him to sit on the desk himself. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’ll be good.”

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Well… not _too_ good.” She started to crawl up on the desk with him, and Jack swallowed hard. 

“Phryne?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Leave the glasses on.”

\---------------------

Jack stared up at the ceiling from atop the desk, Phryne soft and sated and curled into his side.

“So… librarians?” she murmured, amused even now, even after she’d played the part so perfectly.

“Librarians,” he confirmed with a small shrug. “Smart. Practical. Knowledgeable. Clever.”

“Three of those words mean the same thing,” she reminded him.

He shrugged again, well aware of what he actually liked and not here to apologize for it.

“It fits,” she continued. 

“Does it?” he asked sleepily. 

“Oh yes. You’re very much like a book yourself, you know.” Her voice went up again as she said it and Jack tried not to groan prematurely.

“How’s that?”

She leaned up and looked him very seriously in the eye. “Well your cover is so… hard.”

The last word came out as a snort and she collapsed, cackling, onto his chest, extremely proud of herself. 

He rolled his eyes.

That hadn’t even been her best pun of the night. 

She was still laughing though and so he pulled her closer, nuzzled her hair — her _real_ hair, the wig had come off halfway through — smelled her perfume.

“You’re like a book too,” he murmured and she composed herself enough to give him her attention.

“Am I?” she asked.

“Mmmmmm.” He titled his head and kissed her nose. “You’re my happy ending.”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him even as she squeezed him tighter.

“Oh well that’s not fair, Jack. You’re being sweet and now I feel bad about all the teasing.”

He shook his head. “Can’t have that. Would it help, do you think, if I boorishly mentioned you’re also stacked?” he asked with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. 

“Yes, actually, it would.”

Jack let out a roar of laughter at her honesty and she joined him, the two of them ridiculous and in love and almost certainly about to fall asleep on a desk.

Yes, the outfits, on occasion, made him chuckle.

But nothing brought him joy like her.

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So LeChatty’s smoking hot Chapter 16 directly influenced [ Obscenities](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547099/chapters/59275057), which then directly influenced this chapter…
> 
> 🎶 _It's the ciiiiiiiircle of smut life. And it moves us all…_ 🎶


	18. Roles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say I am so happy to be doing these again, I squeal every time Aurora posts a new chapter and then I squeal again when I read it over and over and over because it's just SO GOOD! 😍😍😍
> 
> The idea of Phryne in glasses was one I wanted to explore (though I know I kinda cheated by putting them on her head). And then I thought, _on the topic of role-play_ , that a little "role-reversal" could be fun!

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	19. Paperwork

It started by accident.

They were at his house, intoxicated on wine and each other and quite ready to move the party to his bedroom, when she had drunkenly suggested a new and extremely athletic position they might try if he was amenable.

He was not. 

But instead of just declining, he’d grabbed a pen and sketched it out to show her all the reasons it wouldn’t work.

Mostly gravity.

The next morning she’d found it on the floor, laughed herself breathless, and then absconded with it back to Wardlow where she’d stuck it in her copy of _Erotica of the Far East_. For later. She’d also sketched out an amended version — more sober, more sensible — and showed it to Jack to see if he was interested in that.

He was.

And that might have been the end of it, except Jack was an enthusiastic reader and a few weeks later there was a rather intriguing passage in his most recent acquisition that he seemed unable to adequately describe to her with words.

So he drew it.

Enthusiastically. 

Phryne was delighted.

She also had a vivid imagination, access to plenty of ink, and life experience to spare. 

So it became a game. 

They traded artwork back and forth whenever the mood struck. Sometimes they were suggestions. Sometimes they were memories. Sometimes they were just to make the other one laugh, because they were both pushing 40 and neither was the contortionist from that blasted magic show. 

She rarely signed hers (she often forgot) and he never did (no need to tempt fate or the authorities) but it was easy to determine the artist in question just from the style. 

Phryne’s drawings were quick and passionate and full of bold strokes, much like the ones she nearly gave him on a regular basis.

Jack’s were more detailed, his shading and use of color enough to make her own cheeks pink on occasion.

Phryne collected all of them and put them in her book, keepsakes on canvas.

One day, a year or so after that first drunken sketch, Phryne was feeling amorous and decided to revisit their erotic gallery on her own. She spread all of the drawings on the floor of her bedroom and examined them one by one. 

That’s where Jack found her an hour later, surrounded by their artistic efforts.

“Building an obscenity case against me?” he queried dryly as he began to remove his suit coat. “Or just perusing the menu? Because if it’s the latter I should probably stretch.”

She didn’t respond and he frowned slightly as he loosened his tie. “Phryne?”

“Hmmmm?” She didn’t look up as she said it, so Jack knelt down to sit next to her instead.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She finally glanced up at that, a strange sort of expression on her face, something halfway between pleasure and awe.

“You love me,” she said simply.

“I… do,” he confirmed, totally confused now.

She held up one of his recent additions, a particularly ambitious piece involving the Ballarat train in motion, and ran her fingers over her own face slowly.

“I knew, of course I knew, but…”

Jack looked over her shoulder at all the images scattered on the floor, kissing her temple as he did. “I don’t understand, love, they’re just silly little drawings. What’s — ”

“They’re not though.” She shook her head at him and for a second the black strands tickled his chin. “I was an artist’s model for years, Jack, I can recognize love in a piece of art. And it’s hardly a surprise, of course, I just hadn’t… I hadn’t seen them all at once before. It’s incredible.” She looked over at him. “How… how do you put so much love into these?”

Jack paused, trying to articulate it. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just tell my hands to think of you and the rest pretty much takes care of itself.”

Phryne snorted, breaking the slightly dreamy mood that had fallen over the room. “Darling, I would think that would take care of something else.”

Jack huffed out a laugh of his own. “Yes, well, let’s call me ambidextrous then.” Phyrne giggled and he pulled her closer. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Of course,” she said, starting to collect all the papers off the floor. “I knew you loved me of course, it’s hardly a shock. I guess I was just… admiring the paperwork.”

Jack stopped her efforts short with a kiss, pulling her into his lap. Phryne whooped a laugh, the last of her wistfulness dissipating with the sound.

“Don’t you want to draw this first?” she asked cheekily, trying to pull him up and towards the bed.

“Never was a fan of paperwork,” he murmured against her lips as he pulled her down to the floor instead.

Thank god for gravity.

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I… don’t even know. It started with all those papers scattered around Phryne in Chapter 18 and then somehow morphed into a love letter to LeChatty’s brilliance. I blame a recent reread of our series and my brain melting from Jack’s hips in the previous chapter.
> 
> Sörrynotsorry? 😉


	20. Acrobatics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _**This is not for Kama Sutra, this is not for Kama Sutra, this is not for Kama Sutra...** aka my internal mantra_
> 
> What Aurora's last chapter made me _want_ to draw would not have been suitable for this fic so here you go!  
> I definitely didn't also draw an NSFW version of this that remains safely on my iPad, that would of course be silly.... 😇
> 
> (Also I swear I will not just keep them half-naked and in the bedroom in the next few chapters but I literally couldn't think of anything else for this one. Hope you find something that speaks to you nevertheless Aurora 😘  
> (Oh, and definitely expect a return love letter/ drawing to your freaking amazing works and talent at some point))

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	21. Knots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have we all recovered from Chapter 20 yet? No? Me neither.
> 
> … clearly.

“I do know my knots, Miss Fisher.”

He’d told her that, months and months ago, and she’d filed it away as a vaguely interesting bit of trivia — useful, perhaps, if they ever investigated a case on the high seas, but hardly important in the day to day.

But that was then.

And now… now it was a goddamn distraction.

Because Jack Robinson absolutely _knew his knots_.

She’d first noticed it at the chalet in the alps, his hands crafting a perfect clove hitch to secure a door in place.

 _Nobody could get in_ , she’d thought before turning her attention back to carols and killers.

She’d seen it again later pestering him on his day off, two half hitches as they’d discussed a case and he’d absently made a clothesline over his garden. 

Her breath had hitched as well.

Once, over cocktails, he’d been fiddling with a cherry stem and when she’d found it in the empty glass later, she’d realized he’d turned it into a bowline.

God it would be so much better if he did it with his teeth.

Time and tie and tied again.

She couldn’t stop noticing now, even if she wanted to.

And she really, really didn’t.

Even after they became lovers, _especially_ after they became lovers, her attention was entirely stolen whenever he tied something.

A square knot to wrap a package.

A bottle sling to carry champagne on a picnic.

A butcher’s knot as he aided Mr Butler with the roast.

A goddamn distraction.

And Phryne Fisher wasn’t one to lose anything if she could help it, least of all her focus.

So one night, while they were sipping whisky in her bedroom and enjoying the fire, she decided to do something about it. She sat up and took the glass out of his hand, silently demanding his full attention.

She needn’t have worried — Windsors aside, Jack Robinson didn’t do things by halves.

His eyes followed her every move as she slowly removed the sash from her dressing gown, neatly folded it in her hand, and then placed it in his.

Jack quirked an eyebrow at her, half amused, half confused.

She smiled, softly, before explaining.

“I was told you know your knots, Inspector, and I was very much hoping for a demonstration.” She said it gently, no challenge, no demand; he needed to be as comfortable with the idea as she was.

Jack looked at the thin piece of silk in his hand for a long moment before meeting her gaze again, but when he finally did there was a new heat burning bright in his eyes, the fire no longer limited to the hearth.

Phryne held her breath in anticipation, wondering what his next move would be. Which limbs would he bind, which location would he choose… the mind boggled and the heart raced.

But then he did something very strange — he put the sash down. Took her hands instead. Relieved her of the robe, and himself of his clothes, and laid her gently on the bed.

“Jack, what — ”

Jack cut her off with a small shake of his head and a smile as he laid down over her and found his place in her. He reached back and moved her right leg up and over his left, then did the same with the other side. He kissed her, slowly, as he wound their arms together similarly above her head. They were now as connected as they could possibly get, wrapped around each other impossibly close. He tilted his head back, just a fraction, just enough that she could see his face, and nodded up and down their linked bodies with a smile — somehow both sly and shy at the same time — and Phryne suddenly realized what he’d done.

Jack Robinson knew his knots, but he knew his heart even better, and when given permission to act out a fantasy, he’d done it — not by tying her up, but by tying them together instead. 

The unexpectedness of the move coupled with an understanding of why he’d done it put a lump in her throat and prickle behind her eyes.

“Sheet bend?” she asked after a moment, trying to make a joke though her voice was as cracked open as her heart.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, moving slowly, never letting their connection falter. “Excellent knot. Good for two ropes of different sizes, materials… temperaments.”

“Easy to get out of though,” she sighed contentedly, as he pressed into her just a little deeper. “Hard to tie someone down this way.”

Jack stopped moving. Looked her right in the eye. “Why would I ever want to do that?” he asked. He was utterly serious as he said it, a hint of worry on his handsome face that she’d misinterpreted the gesture. 

Phryne shook her head to reassure him. “Who said you’re the one doing the tying?” She hooked him tighter with her calves to reinforce her words. “Don’t you go anywhere, Inspector, I’ve got plans for you.”

Jack rolled his eyes but his smile was relieved. Phryne wanted to reach up and touch his cheek to encourage him further, but given her current position, she settled for kissing his neck instead, wrapping herself around him, binding them somehow even tighter. And as Jack began to move again, Phryne was struck with the unexpected realization that while this might be the only knot she’d ever tie, it was just as real, just as holy as any piece of paper.

 _Don’t you go anywhere_ , she thought with a joyful smile.

Phryne sighed again, opening her eyes as she did. She had intended to claim his mouth once more, but from her new position she caught sight of the sash and so she grinned to herself instead.

Tonight was about truth, but fantasies had their place too, and she had every intention of getting back to that one eventually. 

After all, Phryne Fisher knew her knots. She’d certainly taught that Portuguese sailor a thing or two.

And she had plans for Jack Robinson.

***

_aurora_australis_


	22. Demonstration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: You're Jack and you walk in on this. WDYD? 
> 
> Sidenote, I read the last chapter at _least_ 10 times. The intimacy. Pls more soft porn Aurora. 😍😘
> 
> (Also, I realize that I can't draw Dot, oops.)

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	23. Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should probably check out Chapter 22 again before you read this. Go on, I’ll wait. Or, better yet, I’ll join you!
> 
> …
> 
> Just amazing. 😍
> 
> Anyway I wrote some words I guess. 😂
> 
> Many thanks to Arlome for being a wise and helpful sounding board and to Bee for an amazing Australian expression that I ultimately cut from this but am definitely keeping in my back pocket for later.

There was a look Mac deployed, from time to time, a look that let you know she wasn’t fooled in the slightest, that she saw right through you, that she _knew_. It was a look she used on Jane sporadically, Bert occasionally, Phryne constantly. It was a look that Jack envied a little, as a policeman; he truly believed in another life she’d have made a hell of a detective. He often admired that look.

But not today.

Because today she was leveling it at him.

A rhythmic tapping noise echoed irritatingly off the morgue walls, and it took Jack longer than he cared to admit to realize it was coming from him.

She knew.

He stopped his nervous fingers from their anxious patter, removed his hand from the table, but the look continued.

Jack coughed and tried to clear a throat that had suddenly become tight.

“Doctor,” he greeted. “You called me.”

“Mmmmph,” she confirmed with something between a word and a grunt. “You and I need to talk.”

“Oh?” Jack placed his hand back on the empty table and leaned towards it in an almost convincing approximation of casual interest.

“Phryne told me.”

The hand slipped and Jack pitched forward.

He stumbled a few steps before catching his balance, but the — literal — slip had the unfortunate consequence of putting him several feet closer to Mac and the look.

Jesus it was terrifying up close.

Jack swallowed, hard. Tried to regain his balance in every way possible; he was a senior detective inspector, he knew better than to admit to anything without evidence. Besides, Phryne wouldn’t have told her… right? No. Impossible.

“Told you what?” he asked, taking a step back.

“What you did.”

Oh god she had.

Jack paused and took another step back, internally cursing Phryne in English and German and the little French he did know. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally replied.

Deny, deny, ask for a solicitor.

Mac crossed her arms.

“Right. Well since I already know you did, my only question now is _why_.”

“Why?” Jack asked, suddenly sweating. In a morgue. Well that couldn’t be good. 

“Is there an echo, Inspector?”

“No, there - why what again?”

Deny, deny, play dumb.

By now Mac’s gaze was steel and for just a moment Jack felt bad for every crook he’d ever interrogated; no one deserved this.

“Do you just think we’re interchangeable?” she asked.

Jack almost choked.

“No! No of course not. I…” He flushed, unable to finish his explanation. 

Deny, deny, hope the ground swallowed you whole.

Mac sighed, some of the anger leaving her face. “I thought you respected me,” she said, her voice a hair quieter than usual.

Jack snapped his head up in surprise.

“I do,” he assured her. And he did. Absolutely. Oh god, this was a nightmare… how could he explain without completely offending her? He closed his eyes and tried anyway.

“I… I wasn’t trying to say ‘Mac.’ I was trying to say something else and then I changed my mind and then….” 

And then Phryne had done this thing with her tongue and words meant nothing anymore and instead of telling her to move onto her back he’d yelled Mac. In bed. With Phryne. And Mac knew.

There was nothing for it now.

Confess, confess, join a holy order of priests.

Jack sighed, opening his eyes but looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry. Really. It was an accident. And, this doesn’t excuse it, but I can’t believe Phryne told you.” He twisted his hat in his hands in frustration. “Sanctity of the boudoir, my arse,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and managed to finally make eye contact again with Mac. Time to face the music.

But her look now was complete confusion.

“What?” she began slowly, “are you talking about?”

“What I accidentally… you said Phryne told you!”

“Yes, that you asked for Doctor Phillips on the Wilber case!”

Now it was Jack’s turn to be confused. “What? I asked for him because I think it’s the same killer as three other murders we worked together almost a decade ago. I wasn’t trying to replace you, I just wanted him in an advisory role.”

“I see.” Mac pursed her mouth in thought before continuing. “But — and correct me if I’m wrong here — what you thought I was asking about was you saying my…” she gestured with her hands vaguely in the air. “But really you were trying to say something else.” She paused for a moment and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh god, it wasn’t your own name was it?”

She said it like a question she’d already answered in her head; yet another reason her suspect associates were far preferable to the alternative. 

For a brief moment Jack wondered what Mr Freud would make of all this. Of course he was dead now.

Lucky bastard. 

Jack sputtered a bit as he opened his mouth — to say what he had no idea — but Mac stopped him with a hand raised in the air. “No. I don’t want to hear anything else. I’m going to pretend this never happened. You’re going to pretend this never happened. Phryne… well Phryne’s likely to bring this up at future Christmases for years, but that can hardly be helped.” She turned and waved her hand in the air as though dispelling the incident by sheer force of will. “Next time keep me updated on consulting coroners and we’ll be fine.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you, doctor. And again… I’m very sorry.”

Mac shrugged as she picked up a clipboard, already past the whole incident and moving on to other matters. “Please. As if that was the first time my name had come up in bed with Phryne.”

There was a look Mac deployed, from time to time, a look that didn’t let you know whether or not she was joking.

She kept in on her face until well after a thoroughly flustered Jack had fumbled his way out of the morgue and down the hall. Then she burst into laughter, picked up the phone, and called Phryne.

“Oh darling,” she said, a huge grin on her face. “Have I got a story for you…”

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After my brief foray into soft core porn, I am back to cracky nonsense! Hellooooooo wheelhouse! 😉


	24. Miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks when this was last updated* oh... oh god. I don't know where time has gone and sincerely apologize that it took me so long. I am constantly torn between wanting to read more of Aurora's brilliant writing and not really having time to draw.  
> Further I apologize for having to take another break for Inktober, so expect my next update in November 🙃 HOWEVER. In the meantime I cannot wait for Aurora's next chapter. Because as always, the last one was fucking brilliant and I've reread it several times. It's just so GOOD. AH. 
> 
> For this, presume the constable is Hugh. How he found the note or how he got into Wardlow I'll just leave up to your imagination. I've been trying to figure out how to convey as much as possible in one single picture and had to add the insert. I hope it's not too bothersome... I did have a lot of fun with Jack's expression, in particular. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with us even though I've been kinda absent! I still have an unreal amount of fun with this collab ❤️

***

***

_LeChatNoir1918_


	25. Outlines

The first time he dreamt about her in silhouette, he knew she’d be his undoing. 

It was after the Imperial Club case, of course, the memory of her good head start still thrumming through his veins. He’d dreamt of her on stage, though this time he didn’t find it at all funny. The lights behind her illuminated everything, including, apparently, his own desires. 

He just wasn’t quite ready to admit them in the light of day. 

But the dreams kept coming.

Often they were based on memories. The twinkling lights at Luna Park, her backlit parlour window, the sun setting in Queenscliff, all of them conspired to sear her unique outline — every line and dip and tempting, taunting curve — into his overwhelmed brain as it attempted to find rest at night.

He didn’t act on the dreams, of course, accepting them instead as an occupational hazard. She was a beautiful woman and he was a single man and if she was to be his undoing at least he’d rest well — someday anyway — knowing he’d put up a good fight against his subconscious. 

It wasn’t until the first time he’d seen her silhouette (lit from behind this time by his perfectly mundane motorcar) and been able to fill in every detail from memory — every freckle and laugh line, smirk and smoulder — that he realized he was already undone. 

And that he was finally ready to admit it.

A shame that the next silhouette he saw was her plane against the sky. 

A pity that he didn’t appreciate her profile on his guest house door in London. 

Amazing the way the desert moon framed her perfectly as they made love in the Negev.

(Contrary to what Phryne thought, he noticed quite a bit.)

He still dreamed of her now, often when she was near, always when she was away, but it was never in silhouette anymore. He didn’t need or want the enigma or the illusion. 

She was not a mystery to be solved, she was a person to be seen, to be known, to be loved.

She wasn’t a dream at all, except, of course, in all the ways that she was.

She had been gone for a few weeks this time, a case up in Sydney, and neither knew when she would return, so when he looked up from his desk to see her silhouette framed by the glass of his office door, it was a bit of a surprise. Her beloved outline was visible just a moment before the lady herself, and while the abstract contours were nice, they couldn’t compete with the flesh and blood woman.

Lit from within, not a shadow in sight.

And Jack was undone all over again. 

***

_aurora_australis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So way back when they were still filming Crypt of Tears, I’m almost positive there was a photo that went around of Phryne’s silhouette against Jack’s office door, even though I now know it wouldn’t have actually been from the movie itself. If I’m remembering correctly, and any of you were more on top of things than me and actually saved it (or just tagged it something sensical), feel free to put the link in a comment and make a poor befuddled author’s day because (real or imagined) I was definitely thinking of it when I wrote this. 😂


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